


Sanctuary

by a_windsor



Series: Exile [5]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:41:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28654407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_windsor/pseuds/a_windsor
Summary: Thea needs to be somewhere else, and Nyssa said she was always welcome.(New Exile!fic. Post Whirlwind)
Relationships: Nyssa al Ghul/Sara Lance
Series: Exile [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/286101
Comments: 12
Kudos: 76





	Sanctuary

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this, off and on, since Sept 2017. I'm also playing with a more descriptive style, because it's my weakness as a writer.

The rain is pelting the dark earth, heavy thumps against the ground, slapping the flagstones of the open-air hallways of the villa. When the wind howls, it splatters rain against the thin cotton of Sara’s pajama pants. Thunder cracks, and electricity sizzles in the air. On nights like tonight, Sara finds she misses the self-contained sandstone of Nanda Parbat – chilly and claustrophobic, sure, but at least it’s protected from the elements.

Sara yawns and shakes the thought away. Most days, the lush green gardens and vibrant potted plants of the villa’s hallways bring her joy. She’s just cranky about having to delay sleep yet again to answer the incoming video message.

Besides, thunderstorms, especially this kind of vicious, overnight kind, make her jumpy. Which is probably why she is dodging rain and righting fallen pots despite her exhaustion.

Unscheduled calls from Starling City are rare. When they come in the middle of an unbridled storm, well, that’s got Sara hurrying. She gets to Nyssa’s study and flicks on the monitor, sinking into the heavy leather desk chair, cold through the wet fabric of her pants.

Sara is surprised when Thea Queen’s face fills the screen. That face is a mess of cuts and bruises, eyes dark and haunted.

“Nyssa?” Thea asks, squinting.

Her voice is scratchy, and not just from the spotty trans-Atlantic feed, which flickers under the interference of the raging storm battering the island.

Sara has to believe this isn’t _her_ emergency, if it’s coming from Thea, asking for Nyssa. But the oddness is still nagging at her, and she worries over Thea’s injuries. Thea’s eyes jump nervously, never quite making eye contact.

“Hey, Thea, it’s me,” Sara tells her, keeping her voice as calm and casual as possible. “Nyssa just got to sleep; Damian’s been up all night because of the storm. I can go get her, though-“

“No, No. I. I’m sorry to bother you in the middle of the night. Forgot what time zone your secret island is in.”

Thea tries to play it cool, but there is a hollowness in it. Her voice doesn’t reach its usual breezy nonchalance, and she stumbles over words.

“You never knew,” Sara chuckles, then pushes. “What’s wrong, Speedy?”

Thea flinches at the name.

“Nyssa said I was always welcome, but…“

Sara frowns thoughtfully. Thea and Nyssa had bonded in their time in Starling City, but she sincerely doubts Thea is calling, looking like that, because she wants a fun weekend getaway.

“Can you get to Miami?”

Thea blinks in surprise.

“… Yes?”

“Someone will pick you up there,” Sara says firmly.

There are tears in Thea’s eyes.

“Thank you.” Her mouth opens and closes a few times. “I just-“

“You don’t need to explain, Thea. You’re family.”

***

Within twelve hours of touching down in Miami, Thea is in a luxurious helicopter slowly descending onto a lonely, lovely island. The helicopter banks around a high cliff and a gorgeous stone villa comes into view. One side is built into a lower cliff, a pristine beach spreading out below, blue green water sparkling in the sunlight, still tipped with white caps from the storm Sara mentioned. The other three sides are enclosed in a whitewashed wall, different wings surrounded by green lawn and luscious garden, a world unto itself.

The helicopter comes to a gentle landing in the largest and flattest of the courtyards, a wide expanse of green. She spots a dark figure dressed in drapey cotton at the edge of the courtyard: Nyssa, she guesses, based on height and hair.

Nyssa greets her alone, as Thea steps off the helicopter gingerly.

“You are injured,” Nyssa says immediately, voice warm and tinged with concern. She rests a gentle hand at the junction of Thea’s shoulder and neck, giving it the barest of squeezes. That’s pretty damn demonstrative for Nyssa.

“Is there anyone I need to kill?” Nyssa asks seriously.

“They’re already dead,” Thea manages, queasy.

“Ah. Very well.” Nyssa’s face is open but not urgent, and she nods matter-of-factly.

“I don’t really want to talk about it right now.”

“Of course. If you change your mind…”

No drawn out, urging drawl or meaningful look. Simple. Clean.

“Thanks,” Thea says, quickly but genuinely. She looks around at the tiled roofs and stone walkways, the potted tropical plants, and understands why Felicity calls it Paradise Island. “This place is gorgeous.”

“It is. Would you like a tour?”

“Sure.”

Thea goes to thrust her hands into her pockets, but the left wrist is still casted, so she falters and settles for just the right hand, left arm dangling with nothing to do.

Nyssa leads Thea through the villa’s wings and gardens, ending in a sunny study full of books. The walls are light, reflecting the sun, but each wall is covered in dark bookcases and dark-stained rafters rest overhead. A warm brown leather couch is in one half of the room, a large, executive style desk in the other, two armchairs between them. The armchairs are claimed by a pair of grey tabby cats.

“These are Jelly and Butter; they are able rest companions. There is a third, Peanut, who is likely off killing something.”

“Takes after Nyssa that way,” Sara grins, leaning in the doorframe with the baby on her hip.

The baby. Right. That’s a little weird.

Sara’s hair is longer now than Thea remembers it, wavy and blonde still, and Damian’s tiny fingers tangle in the tresses. The infant blinks wide eyes at the guest.

“D, this is Thea,” Sara tells him.

Nyssa and Sara have a baby. That’s still hard to process. Except for responsible, very grown-up Dig, no one in her social circle is anywhere close to having kids, and she always thought of Nyssa’s and Sara’s lives as one League adventure after the other.

“Hey,” Thea says.

“Hey you,” Sara says gently.

Thea came here to see Nyssa, but Sara’s energy is just as calming. It’s like those few hours in Coast City a couple years ago, where she finally felt seen and heard and respected. No expectations: only acceptance.

“Nice place you got here,” Thea says.

“It’s pretty great.”

“Where’s Rocket?”

Sara whistles over her shoulder, and that little tornado of energy comes running in, claws on stone. The cats on the chairs look up idly but otherwise don’t move.

The baby, Damian, giggles as Thea bends to pet Rocket. She moves stiffly, still sore. She pretends that Nyssa’s and Sara’s concerned eyes aren’t lingering on her.

“So, you starving?” Sara offers. “Marwa makes a mean hamburger.”

“Why do you insist on having her make that?” Nyssa turns up her nose.

“It’s comfort food,” Sara insists. “Her fries are also to die for.”

Nyssa rolls her eyes.

“If you want something more nutritious, we can also provide that,” the Heir to the Demon says primly.

But Thea has to admit, after the last few hazy days and continent-jumping:

“A burger sounds great.”

***

Nyssa, with Damian in her arms, escorts Thea to the kitchen. The warm, bustling room somehow manages to mix the aesthetics of a five-star restaurant and a French manor kitchen, high-end appliances and stainless-steel sinks, mixed with fine granite counter-tops and a huge, wide-planked, bar-height wooden table in the middle, part prep-space, part gathering place.

The kitchen is obviously a hub of the villa, but when Nyssa and Thea walk through the doors, everyone clears out. Everyone but a middle-aged woman Nyssa introduces as Marwa, the queen of this kitchen.

Marwa immediately sets to work on Thea’s order as Nyssa settles Thea at the dark wood island and finally takes a stool a few down from Thea, close, but still giving her space. She smiles kindly, rubbing the onesie-d baby’s back as Damian lays up against her shoulder, gnawing on his fist. Are those? Yep, duckies. The Heir to the Demon is burping a baby in a ducky onesie. Right in front of her. What a week Thea’s having.

“So, uh, how old is he?”

“Six months, last week,” Nyssa answers.

“He’s cute,” Thea smiles over her burger. It is, in fact, delicious.

Nyssa is being so very Nyssa, and it is _so damn_ refreshing. There’s none of Felicity’s frantic overtalking, Laurel’s wide, concerned eyes, Dig’s silent, measuring stares, Roy’s frustrated, powerless anger, Oliver’s… everything.

Nyssa is just… calm, steady, just as she has always been around Thea – a firm teacher but a sympathetic ear.

So, Thea finally opens up. She finishes the burger, wipes her hands on the napkin, and starts:

“I was on patrol, eight days ago, when I was grabbed. There was this psycho anti-vigilante guy. Apparently, I had some run in with him a few months ago. I still don’t remember it. But I became the focus of his… bullshit. He stalked me, learned my patterns. Which means I got sloppy.”

She tries to stand apart from the story, to recount bare facts, even as the fear and the shame come rushing back, tingling at the base of her neck.

“You are not at fault,” Nyssa interrupts firmly, turning Damian around to face out. Damian’s wide, dark eyes blink slowly at Thea. “But please, continue.”

“He grabbed me. Drugged me. Tied me up in his creepy psycho basement. For, I’m told, six days.”

She hopes that comes out as dispassionate as she is going for. Fact. Just fact.

Nyssa’s face shifts, just a little. Thea cannot begin to describe how much she appreciates the lack of soppy sympathy.

“The team couldn’t find me. The cops couldn’t find me. I had to save myself. And I did. With a nail I pried out of a post. On Day Five. I finally broke out of the basement on Day Six.”

Thea ends it there, blinking away the flashing memories and taking a few deep breaths against the roiling mixture of rich hamburger and residual adrenaline in her stomach.

Nyssa takes a moment, face unreadable, then pours another glass of water from the carafe beside her and slides it towards Thea.

“You did exceptionally well,” she says. “Would you like something a little stronger than water?”

Thea’s spine relaxes. The air feels better in her lungs now.

“Yes. Please.”

Nyssa’s approval means so much more than everything Team Arrow had showered her with. They mean well, but it all sounds like platitudes. Nyssa doesn’t do platitudes.

The Heir to the Demon stands, easily balancing Damian on her hip, and retrieves two crystal glasses and a bottle of whisky. She pours two or three fingers of the alcohol in each glass and then hands one to Thea.

“Did you suffer any long term injuries?” Nyssa asks casually.

“A couple broken ribs. This.” Thea lifts her casted wrist. “I broke it to get out of the cuffs. But they say I should heal pretty quickly.”

“Mm. Was his obsession sexual in nature?” Nyssa asks matter-of-factly.

“No. At least not that he acted on.”

Even though that had always been at back of her mind, a sick terror she couldn’t let herself truly think about during those endless hours in that dank, awful basement. She takes a swig of the amber liquid and savors it all the way down, even though it doesn’t exactly calm the hot mixture in her stomach.

“May I share this with Sara? We do not often keep secrets from each other, but as it is your confidence, she would understand.”

Thea manages a smile. Everything is so different here.

“You can tell Sara. I’m just really fucking sick of talking about it.” 

She forces that out with a laugh to prevent tears from clogging her throat.

“Understood,” Nyssa says. “Which is why you are here, rather than Starling City.”

Thea nods.

“I’d imagine the men in your life are not handling this particularly well.”

Thea even finds herself chuckling at the disdain in her voice.

“No.”

“Do they know you’re here?” Nyssa asks, measured.

“Laurel does. So, they all probably know by now. I needed to… _not_ be there.”

“And so, you are not,” Nyssa smiles, just a little. “And you are welcome here a long as you need. Would you like to see your room? Go down to the beach? You may treat this villa as your home and go wherever you like.”

“Lying down sounds pretty great.”

“Very well. Bring your drink. I’ll have our medic prepare a few things that should help the bones knit more quickly to bring by later.”

***

Nyssa and Damian see Thea to her room, then return to their own quarters, meeting one of Marwa’s kitchen aides at the door with the bottle of beer the Heir requested earlier. Damian is dozing against her shoulder, so she has one hand free to take the bottle. She pushes into the sitting room, still lit by the late afternoon sun and finds Sara scrolling through something on a tablet. Sara smiles beautifully when she sees them, setting the tablet aside and holding out her hands.

“Ooh, gimme.”

Nyssa hands over the beer. Sara grins.

“I meant the _baby_ ,” she laughs.

“Ah. He has a previously scheduled engagement,” Nyssa disappoints her, setting Damian down on his stomach on a blanket laid out for the purpose.

Sara sighs. “Khala’s a stickler for tummy time.”

Damian babbles and pushes up with his arms, straining towards the toys at the far side of the blanket.

“Drink that,” Nyssa says. “You’ll need it.”

Sara’s face grows more serious, losing her grin.

Nyssa tells Thea’s story.

“Jesus Christ,” Sara swears after Nyssa recounts the details.

“Yes,” Nyssa agrees.

On a blanket at their feet, Damian continues to exercise his neck and stomach muscles as Sarookh tries, impatiently, to teach him to fox crawl.

“Oliver must be a mess. And Laurel and Sin! Why didn’t they call us?”

“While Oliver Queen is nowhere near the warrior he believes he is, he is a more than adequate tracker. This was a lone actor. No witnesses. No evidence. If he could not find her, it is doubtful either of us could have.”

Sara nods, but she frowns, eyes losing her focus as her thoughts turn inward, clearly unsettled by the radio silence.

“Your sisters are also careful not to burden us – you – with the goings on of Starling City. They know your primary responsibilities are here, especially now, with Damian.”

Sara sighs. “Yeah, I guess. But this is _Thea_. And it was for _six days_ , Nyssa.”

“And she saved herself quite admirably. Just as we trained her.”

“You’re right,” Sara says, picking at a loose thread at her knee, thoughtfully.

“Always.”

Sara looks up sharply and rolls her eyes.

“You’re such a brat,” she says as she stands from the couch, kissing Nyssa’s cheek briefly. “I’m glad you can be here for her, now.”

“Indeed. I am honored that she thought of us as a refuge.”

To be anyone’s idea of safety and home would have been unthinkable before Sara, but she is grateful for it.

Sara drops to the blanket beside Damian, mirroring his pose.

“How’s this crawling thing coming, D?”

Damian pushes up with his little arms for a few moments, then gives up, collapsing back onto the quilt. He settles for just rolling towards her, running into her and making her laugh. He giggles, and Rocket jumps on her back.

Soon, Nyssa’s family is a jumbled mess on the floor, and Nyssa extracts the most breakable of them, dangling Damian above the fray.

“When you two are done…” she says idly.

Sara grabs Rocket, and the four settle back on the couch.

“Thea does not wish to be constantly discussing what happened,” Nyssa says.

“Sure. But she does have to talk about it some, to move forward. I don’t know if it’s her first, but it’s probably her most intimate. Kill, I mean,” Sara says, going distant. Nyssa thinks back to conversations about Sara’s first.

“In her time.”

“Of course,” Sara says, then blows out a breath. “And she can take as much time as she needs.”

***

It’s been fifteen days since Thea landed on this island called Paradise. She’s found herself adjusting to the natural rhythms of the villa. She is always welcome in everything, but never required. She joins in Nyssa’s and Sara’s morning training, befriends the kitchen staff, and enjoys the absolutely idyllic private beach. She takes long runs around the island, sometimes alone, sometimes with Nyssa, Sara, or another League assassin. She climbs the cliffs and rocks as best she can, loses herself in the breathtaking views, all endless horizon and blue green sea.

Nyssa and Sara have each taken a trip off island in the time Thea’s been here, on League business they cannot speak of. Thea joins whoever is home for dinner every evening but is otherwise left to her own devices.

In daylight, everything is fine. Her hand and wrist are healing well, and this has basically been the most relaxing vacation Thea has ever had. At night, though, the memories still plague her. She can string together just a few hours at time before waking up with her heart pounding in her ears and her hands sticky with sweat that her half-awake mind is sure is blood.

In those moments, Thea has found herself in Nyssa’s study, curled up on the couch with a light blanket and one or two cats. She’s never been much of a reader, but here it feels natural. She thinks Nyssa has caught on: every night there’s another book, related to the previous night’s selection, waiting on the coffee table.

That’s where Sara finds her one night, the moonlight framing the now familiar sight of Sara with Damian on her hip in the doorway.

“Look, D. Seems Aunt Thea can’t sleep either. Think she’s teething, too?”

Thea laughs some, pulled out of her reading.

“Teething’s no fun,” she says, closing her book and patting the leather couch beside her. The island’s a little chilly tonight – Thea pulls the knit blanket around her shoulders and sees Damian is similarly bundled, though a t-shirt and leggings is all Sara seems to need.

“I imagine whatever’s got you up isn’t much fun, either,” Sara notes, taking the proffered seat.

Damian turns his face blearily to Thea, face red-splotched and sticky with tears. Thea knows the feeling and finds herself saying as much:

“I go to bed every night thinking I’m fine. Thinking I’ll call home in a couple days, start making plans to go, and then… No matter how far I’ve run or how hard I’ve trained or how relaxed I feel. No matter how tired I am from a day of sand and sun and surf. The nightmares come. I was so scared, Sara.”

The last escapes as a whisper, Thea closing her eyes against the memory.

“I never thought I’d be scared like that again. You and Nyssa and Laurel, you all trained me so well. Things could get intense, sure, but I knew I could handle it, y’know? But this-“

The bile rises, and she blows out slowly through her nose.

“I’m afraid all the time,” Sara’s easy, casual voice cuts through her haze. Thea’s eyes pop open. “And not just for him.” She gestures with her chin to the now-dozing baby. “Or for Nyssa. Or for my team. But for _me_. At the end of the day, no training changes the fact that we’re all just fragile humans. In the League, fear is a tool, a teacher, a warning system. But just like pain, it is just _a_ feeling, one of many, giving us data. We can’t be controlled by any of our feelings. And you weren’t. Fear is paralyzing, but _you_ weren’t paralyzed. You saved yourself. That’s what matters.”

Surprisingly, it doesn’t sound like a platitude. Maybe it’s the time that has passed or her immersion in this League world, but it’s probably just the no-bullshit way Nyssa and Sara have about them. When they say something, they mean it.

“If I didn’t save myself, I would have died,” Thea says.

“And do you resent them for that?” Sara asks like it’s a simple, easy question. ‘Them’ of course is Ollie and Laurel, and Roy…

She knows they were frantic, knows they were looking everywhere. And still…

“Not rationally.”

“That’s not a no.”

“I know, I _know_ they were doing their best. But I felt so alone. And I don’t know how to go back there and see all the people and places that I was down there pleading to see again. It’s like they have the taint of that basement all over them.”

“That’s in your head,” Sara says plainly.

Thea, who’d been staring at the shadowed bookshelves, feeling herself drift back to that basement, snaps her attention to Sara, who shrugs.

“Like, that doesn’t make it less real to you, now, but it does mean _you_ have the power to change it. By going back there and replacing those tainted memories with new ones. And honestly? With some good therapy.”

Thea gapes. _Therapy_ was not something that came up often in their group of “masks” and yet, she went to private school: she knows therapy is a thing.

“And if Ollie gives you shit about it, or does his guilt/angst bullshit, just tell him to fuck off. I do all the time, and he still loves me.”

Thea laughs, despite it all. Sara makes everything sound so easy, and in a realistic, make a plan kind of way.

“So, I just find a therapist and tell them, what? I’m a vigilante who was trapped in someone’s basement?”

“I mean, yes,” Sara says, “Confidentiality! Just don’t tell them that you _intend_ to kill someone, and you’re good.”

Thea’s about to ask how Sara knows this, but Sara presses on:

“I mean, you’ve lost three parents, Thea, even if one was an awful monster I killed myself. You’ve probably got a lot to process.”

Right. Thea should pay her therapist twice their usual rate just for the “still great friends with the person who killed her emotionally abusive biological father” part of her story.

“Yeah,” is all she can say, though.

“Just something to think about,” Sara says, starting to stand. “I should at least try to put him down in his crib.” She nods towards Damian, asleep with his hand fisted in her shirt. “You’ll probably see us in an hour or so, though. Those teeth are insistent.”

Thea nods. Sara lays her free hand on Thea’s shoulder, squeezing gently.

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you like, as always. But at this point, it’s not going to get any _easier_ to go home.”

Thea nods. “Goodnight.”

She stays in the study a long time after Sara leaves, but she doesn’t turn her page once.

***

Several more days pass. Thea doesn’t really mean them to, per se. But taking that affirmative step of calling home or telling Nyssa or Sara that she wants to go, just seems insurmountable.

One day, after lunch, she’s hanging out with Rocket, Damian, and Damian’s nanny Umm Saleem on the floor of the high ceiling family room, with its giant windows overlooking the ocean. To her surprise, she first hears, then sees, a helicopter approach. Sara and Nyssa are both here, and Sar’ab isn’t due back until the end of the week. Maybe a message, then, though Thea isn’t entirely sure how the League operates – and she supposes that’s the point.

Damian doesn’t seem to notice, of course, laying on his back happily chewing on a teething ring and flinging his feet around. Umm Saleem looks up idly, then returns her attention to Damian’s play. Rocket, though – her ears perk up and she jumps off Damian’s blanket, sprinting for the landing site. Helicopters mean visitors, and visitors mean pets. And treats.

“I guess I’ll go see who it is,” Thea says, unfolding herself from the ground and following the pup more sedately. Umm Saleem nods. She’s never spoken a word of English to Thea (though Thea’s practiced a little Arabic with her), but that’s always seemed by choice rather than lack of understanding.

The blades are still whirring when Thea reaches the largest of the villa’s inner courtyard, and Rocket dances on the flagstones of the walkway, waiting for someone to emerge. Thea lingers behind her, suddenly realizing that if that’s a League member she’s never met, they won’t exactly be excited to see her. In fact, they might be a bit stabby about it.

But it is not a black-clad assassin that hops off the helicopter:

It’s Sin.

Thea freezes, flashing back to the last time she saw anyone from Starling City, but before she can go too far down that rabbit hole, she is enfolded in one of Sin’s trademark, leather-jacket bear hugs.

“What are you doing here?” Thea asks, holding on tight, letting the past slip away and focusing on the present.

“Sara said you were having trouble starting, so I’m here to take you home.”

***

“An interesting choice,” Nyssa notes, watching Sin and Thea spend a few minutes with Rocket and Damian before it’s time for the helicopter to take off again. “Not Roy?”

“You want Roy, here?” Sara asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, I’m sure Sar’ab and Talibah would be happy to see The Small One again,” Nyssa says, matching her eyebrow with a dry tone.

Sara barks a laugh, and Nyssa continues more seriously, “If not her boyfriend, then why not Laurel? Or Laurel _and_ Sin?”

“Sin is only vigilante adjacent,” Sara says plainly. “And Sin is… solid. Believe me. Good in a storm, calming for all her antsy-ness sometimes. Do you want to argue with the results?”

Sara gestures to the green grass of the courtyard, where Thea laughs and smiles while Rocket’s favorite aunt leads the tiny pup through a million and one tricks. Thea holds Damian, occasionally tickling his sides and getting a laugh from the baby.

“I imagine I will miss her.”

“Aw, yeah. You’ve never had a little sister before,” Sara says with the gentlest of teases.

“I suppose you’re correct about the bond we share,” Nyssa says, thinking of her time with Ms. Queen fondly.

“You were her port in the storm,” Sara replies seriously, nudging her shoulder into Nyssa’s. “You’re pretty good at that.”

Sara turns those blue eyes up at her, and Nyssa remembers another lost woman, what feels like a lifetime ago.

“Do you think she’s ready?”

“I think she has to try. She knows how to get us if she needs us.”

Nyssa nods and threads her fingers through Sara’s.

“You are right,” she admits, still a bit worried.

“Always,” Sara replies cheekily.

Nyssa scoffs. Sara laughs and lifts her hand to bring Nyssa’s lips down to hers.

“Quick. Kiss me while the baby’s distracted.”

***

Thea has been back in Starling, for a couple weeks and two therapy sessions before she calls Paradise Island again.

Nyssa answers the call this time, Damian in a sling on her chest, gnawing on a teething ring.

“Still working on those teeth, huh?”

“Slow but steady progress. And how are you?”

“About the same,” Thea grins wryly. Nyssa gives her a soft smile in return. “Thank you, so much, I-“

“Your gratitude is unnecessary, Thea. We are always here if you need us.”

“I know,” Thea says, and she’d expected that very response. “But I still had to say it.”

“How are things with your brother?”

“Well,” Thea grins, “He went on a guilt spiral, but I followed Sara’s advice and we’re okay now.”

“Sara’s advice?” Nyssa asks, amused.

“I told him to fuck off and just be my brother.”

Nyssa snorts, delighting Thea.

“Apparently, tough love is the key to dealing with Ollie,” Thea laughs.

“That does, indeed, sound like Sara,” Nyssa says. “She’d love to speak with you, but she is off island at the moment. I suspect she might have called my father to ask for an assignment to avoid week three of teething.”

Thea laughs, again, because she knows that is a joke. She does miss the island, the easy quiet of it, the steady, undemanding support of Sara and Nyssa. But she couldn’t stay forever; the rest of her family is here. This is the city she _wants_ to serve. And she knows that she has a safe haven, if she ever needs it again.

So, she asks after the friends she made on the island, the rhythms of life there, the flock of seagulls that Marwa is locked in an eternal battle with over the kitchen trash. Nyssa inquires about Roy and Laurel and Dig. They make plans to speak again in another couple weeks.

Thea thinks she’ll be even more herself by then.

In the end, Thea knows that’s thanks to Nyssa, but she doesn’t say it again. She just teases her a couple of times, says “until next time”, and means it.

***

fin


End file.
